Come Home

by Patricia Gussin

  “Do it for Alex” competed nonstop in her head with “But he hit me!”

  What should she do? She needed to talk to Natalie, but an unspeakable feeling of failure—wounded pride that she wasn’t perfect, or that her life wasn’t perfect—held her back. Besides, with Rob’s bankruptcy in all the local papers, Natalie had her own problems. She planned to reach out to Natalie later today, arrange lunch with her tomorrow, if she wasn’t flying from one business meeting to another.

  Since Ahmed always rose first, Nicole did not expect him to be lying beside her in bed. He’d come to bed late last night, unusually late for him. She’d been in a twilight sleep but awake enough to feel the lightest of touches on her arm. The first time he’d touched her since that night and with a tenderness reminiscent of their early days. She had not stirred, and they both had slept, opposite sides of the bed, no skin touching.

  Ahmed. If only we could do over this last month. I miss you in so many ways. Right now, I’m mentally reviewing the day to see how our schedules jibe—but I have no idea what cases you’ve got booked for today.

  Nicole got up, made the bed, and headed for the shower. On the way, she reminded herself that no matter what their personal chaos, they had to present to the world a stable professional relationship. They co-owned their practice, their building, their equipment. They could not afford to let emotions erode their careers. She felt better having come to that conclusion. She could reach out to Ahmed on that level. And what followed would follow, but he’d have to make the first move. He hit her.

  Dressed in her usual weekday attire, a suit with a snug-fitting skirt, a fluttery silk blouse, and three-inch heels, Nicole came into the kitchen expecting to find Alex sitting in his pajamas while Anna served his breakfast. Instead, she found Alex, already dressed in slacks and a sweater. And pouring his cereal was Ahmed.

  “Morning, Nicole.” Ahmed’s greeting put her off kilter.

  “Daddy’s having breakfast with us,” said Alex, “and he’s taking me to school today.” Her son sounded exultant that Daddy would provide such a mundane service.

  “Where’s Anna?” Nicole asked, glancing around the kitchen, seeing no oatmeal pot, no sign of active cooking. On the table, an open box of Cheerios. On the kitchen shelf, a bowl with stale Christmas candy remnants. Time to toss it out.

  “Daddy told her she could have the day off because he was going to fix me breakfast and take me to school all by himself.”

  “Okay,” Nicole said, unable to burst the Daddy-as-superhero bubble.

  “Did you pack your bookbag?” Nicole asked. Alex had insisted he needed a special pack of crayons. “Your crayons?”

  Alex pushed back his chair. “No. I forgot. I’ll …”

  “I have them, Alex,” Ahmed said.

  Nicole was surprised that Ahmed even knew about them as she and Alex had left the house to buy them while he was on that very long call from Egypt. A call that had caught her attention as she passed by his office—angry, demanding voices. She’d wondered what that was all about, wanting to ask Ahmed, but refusing to start a conversation with him.

  Ahmed watched as Alex resumed eating his cold cereal. And Nicole made another observation. He had just addressed their son as Alex. Over the last week, he’d persisted in using Wati. Was that a sign that he could be relenting? That maybe this impasse between them could end? She hoped so. She wanted her charming, devoted Archy.

  “I’ve got everything under control, Nicole. Would you like me to make you some toast? I usually just have a bagel at the hospital, but if you—”

  “No, I’m okay.” She could use a jump-start on her morning. She’d pick up her favorite coffee roll at the hospital gift shop. “You sure you’re okay with dropping Alex off at school? I can do it—”

  “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” said Nicole, sensing a major thaw in their relationship, not wanting to disrupt it. “Alex? You okay?”

  Nicole picked up her shoulder bag and headed to her son. She kissed the top of his head, her lips lingering on the soft dark hair smelling of Johnson’s shampoo.

  Alex looked up at her with a broad smile. “Sure. Have a nice day, Mommy.”

  Nicole felt her heart break with love for her little boy. The child needed a father, and apparently, Ahmed was stepping up to the plate. For an instant, she felt drawn to Ahmed, stepping toward him, planning to lean in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. As she continued toward him, she felt the tug of a stitch in her lip, and she veered off. He hit me. He needs to make the first move.

  When she reached the door, Nicole turned back to wave good-bye. Alex’s head was bent toward his cereal bowl. Ahmed had his back toward her. No response.

  Missing from that breakfast scene was Anna. Nicole still didn’t get why Ahmed had told Anna to take the day off. Just like that, on a Monday morning?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE MOMENT NICOLE closed the front door behind her, Ahmed rolled his suitcases from the den into the foyer, four of them, all hefty. He’d dressed quite well in America and he wasn’t ready to abandon his cherished suits for Arab jellabiya. His manner of travel—private plane—imposed no luggage restrictions, so he might as well take whatever he could. But, while Nicole had been in the house, he hadn’t been able to get to Alex’s things. So, while his son finished breakfast, Ahmed tore through the boy’s room, throwing clothes into a large duffel bag, followed by a few games, and a couple of stuffed animals. He finished in under five minutes.

  By now, Nicole would have reached the hospital. She’d be in her professional zone, thinking about her patients, running through the operative steps for her procedures. He’d seen her case for today on the schedule, a complicated repair that would require bone grafts and surgical screws to restore the patient’s face, make it presentable again. He had to admit, his wife always was more prepared for surgery than he. He’d decide what cuts he wanted to make once the patient was on the table, knocked out and helpless. Opposite altogether from Nicole who mapped out strategies in her head and sorted through them until she had a definitive action plan: opening cut; order of musculature attack; order of technique to isolate the nerves, the arteries. He was too intuitive for that, more of an artist, an impressionist, never burdened by a plan.

  He figured he could count on her distraction until at least midafternoon. By then, any intervention attempt would be too late.

  So far this morning, he and Alex had been best buddies. Now to put that chumminess to the test. After Alex finished eating, Ahmed sent him to brush his teeth. He’d left everything intact in the child’s bathroom. While Alex was occupied, he loaded the Mercedes C Class, filling both the ample trunk and backseat of his car.

  “What are you doing, Daddy?” Alex’s eyes widened, as he stood at the open front door of the car.

  “Daddy has a big surprise for you today, Son.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. What kid doesn’t love a surprise?

  “We are going on a trip. We’re taking an airplane—”

  “Where?” the child asked, starting to shrink back. Ahmed did not want a scene. He was prepared to control Alex, if need be, with a sedative, but he’d try for voluntary cooperation. He wanted them to conform to the happy father-son image. No hysterics.

  “We are going to the airport—”

  “I’m supposed to go to school. I have different colors in my new crayon box.”

  “Plans have changed, Alex.”

  “Does Mommy know?”

  “Of course, Mommy knows. She’s coming, too. She just had to go to the hospital first. To take care of her patients just like Mommy always does.”

  “But she didn’t say …”

  “You know how grown-ups always talk about important things at night. Well, Mommy and Daddy talked about it last night. While you were asleep. We agreed.”

  “Really?” Alex asked, shrinking back a little farther. So, he didn’t believe his own father. That would stop soon enough. No more Nicole’s “mama’s boy.
”

  “Yes. Now we must go so we can meet her at the airport. This is going to be a wonderful adventure. You are going to get to see many of your relatives that you haven’t seen yet.”

  Alex was always asking to go see his grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles, and cousins who lived “far away.” And to give Nicole credit, she’d patiently explained to their son that Daddy’s family lived in Egypt, making a trip there seem enticing. That reminded Ahmed: he had to switch from Alex to Wati.

  “We are?” He sounded excited now, a gleam replacing wariness in his eyes.

  Ahmed struggled to keep up the kid-style conversation in the car. He tried to count different-colored cars with Alex, all while tormented by thoughts of leaving Philadelphia forever, his plastic surgery practice, his home, his friends, his comfortable lifestyle. Worse still, the searing sensation in his heart, a part of himself torn away. Can I leave Nicole? Like this? Taking her son? Her precious, irreplaceable son. Her consuming love. Can I do that to her?

  At Philadelphia International Airport, Ahmed drove right by Atlantic Aviation, had to circle back. In the parking lot, he cut the engine of the Mercedes that he’d never see again and slumped over the wheel. Am I doing the right thing?

  What if I tell my father “no”? I can still stop this. Drive Alex home. Tell Nicole I’m sorry. Hold her in my arms. Run my fingers through her soft, shimmering hair. Caress her. Embrace her. Feel her body press against mine. Stretch her out beneath me in our bed. With Nicole, I can defy my family, stay in the US. We can let Alex chose between Islam and Christianity once he is old enough. Nicole and I always said: if there’s one God, there’s one God; no matter what roads lead to Him.

  Ahmed’s hand went to the ignition. He turned the switch and the Mercedes’ engine purred to life.

  “Daddy, there’s a man coming over. He’s got a uniform on.”

  A cop? But passengers flying private planes could park here, Ahmed was sure.

  When he looked up, he saw hurrying toward them a well-built Arab man dressed in a dark-blue suit with an insignia he didn’t recognize. Leaving the engine running, he opened the driver’s-side window.

  “Are you Dr. Masud?” The speech heavily accented.

  Ahmed nodded. He needed to return home, to Nicole, to make things right with her. He’d all but decided. Everything in him cried out, “Go home. Take your boy home.”

  “Come with me, sir. I am your attendant. Your flight is ready to go. You must come with me. I will have someone handle your luggage. Come.”

  The Arab man tried to open the locked car door.

  “Unlock the door, Doctor. Turn off the engine.” Spoken in Arabic. In a commanding tone.

  Ahmed turned the ignition key to the off position. Hesitating only an instant, he unlocked the car doors.

  “Take your son and follow me.” Authoritative, in English now.

  Still, Ahmed sat. I’m at the crossroads of my life. I must decide. Can I defy my father? Am I strong enough?

  “Daddy, that man says we have to go now. Mommy must be waiting inside.”

  The child started to get out of the backseat, lugging his panda bookbag.

  I am past the point of no return.

  Ahmed climbed out of the Mercedes, grabbed his son’s arm, and stood by the car. In the distance, he could see the gleam of an aircraft, recognized the Egyptian tail code SU. Just as his father had said, the plane that would take him and Alex to Cairo. He wasn’t sure how long he stood, feet planted next to the warm engine of the Mercedes, his left hand clutching Alex’s arm, before the large man took hold of his right elbow and led him away.

  “Doctor, we have to enter through this building.” The self-appointed flight attendant gestured to the Atlantic Aviation building and led the way. Ahmed knew the terminal well. Nicole’s brother Patrick and his wife had their own plane and often lent it out to family members. His brother-in-law Rob had part-owned a NetJet plane until the real estate business tanked.

  “Daddy.” Alex looked from side to side. “I don’t see Mommy.”

  Alex stopped walking as did Ahmed to avoid stretching the child’s arm, but their escort continued. The big man kept a firm hold on Ahmed’s arm, dragging them forward.

  “We must hurry, Doctor,” the man said, unyielding.

  Ahmed was now committed. No backing out. He was heading toward the plane. With Alex—Wati. As his father had decreed.

  To the Arab, whom he’d begun to consider his captor, he said, “Let go of me. I will handle my son.” With a jerk, he extricated his arm.

  Turning to Alex, bending down to eye level, he said, “Son, everything will be okay.”

  Alex looked at him with eyes frightened and trusting at once. “Okay, Daddy,” he said.

  Hand in hand, Ahmed and Alex followed the attendant into the building.

  “Maybe she’s on the airplane already,” Alex was saying when Ahmed reached down to help him with the bookbag.

  “Come. We’ll see,” Ahmed said, looking up to see a tall, well-dressed man with a shaved head coming from the tarmac, walking his way. Distracted, Ahmed at first did not recognize him. No greetings were exchanged, but the man nodded to him. Then he remembered. His sister-in-law’s boss. Barney Black, the Keystone Pharma CEO.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IN A FEW minutes, Rob would close the door for the last time. He glanced around the space, almost empty now, that for forty years had been the Center City Philadelphia headquarters of Johnson Quality Homes. His father had started the business in a suburban garage, and now Rob was leaving the city, full circle, back to the suburbs, to set up a home office.

  In the attachment to their Bucks County main house, Rob had configured space to accommodate his secretary, his foreman, his business manager, himself, and an empty office for contractors when needed. An adequate base from which to run a bankrupt business. Try to look at the bright side. No more one-hour commute into the city.

  And Rob was trying to look on the bright side. Natalie was seeing to that. Cheerful, reassuring, optimistic, all the things that a wife should be. But Rob’s reality was failure. He couldn’t come up with an excuse. He couldn’t pay his debts. Good men had lost their jobs. Houses abandoned half-built. His suppliers, his employees, he’d let them all down. If he could blame someone other than himself, it’d be the bankers. Greed had propelled the construction frenzy. And the foundation had collapsed, leaving widespread debris of misery and defeat.

  Remaining to pack: framed photos of his wife and daughter, political shots of him with smiling Pennsylvania Governors Ed Rendell, Tom Ridge, Dick Thornburgh. With the photos stowed, he’d end this chapter of his life. But before he started to collect the last items, his cell phone rang. Natalie’s ring tone. At ten o’clock? She’d be in her Monday morning staff meeting. How like Natalie to excuse herself to give him a cheer-up call. The thought made Rob smile. No matter what, he had to keep up his spirits for Natalie. “Hey,” he answered. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” At least one of us needs a job. “What’s up?”

  “Rob.” Not Natalie’s cheer-up voice. He could tell with just one word that something was wrong.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Her words came out in a rush. “It’s Alex. Ahmed had him at the airport this morning. Private terminal. Where we fly with NetJets—Keystone keeps their plane there, too.”

  Except we don’t have our NetJets anymore.

  “Okay,” Rob said, wondering where this was going.

  “Why would he have Alex? It’s a school day. Nicole didn’t mention—”

  “Was Nicole with them?” Rob asked.

  “No, just Ahmed and Alex. Barney said that Alex looked … unsteady. That was the word he used.”

  “Back up, Natalie. Barney? Your boss? Barney Black? What does he have to do with this?”

  “Rob, listen. Something’s not right. Barney saw them at the airport. He’s the one who told me. Just now. I called you first. Rob, why had Ahmed t
aken Alex to the airport?”

  Rob had no idea why. He knew about the tension between Nicole and Ahmed, but with all the problems raining down on him, he hadn’t been giving his in-laws much thought. He did know that Ahmed had hit Nicole last week. Hard to believe. His brother-in-law was a good guy. Rob couldn’t imagine that he’d hit her.

  “Have you talked to your sister?”

  “No, I called you first. I thought you could call Atlantic Aviation, people you know there, make sure Ahmed and Alex didn’t fly out anywhere. I don’t want to upset Nicole unless …”

  “Geez, I hate to call them. After I had to sell my share of the jet. I mean …” He didn’t want to say it, but that’d be damn embarrassing, humiliating.

  “Please, Rob!” The anguish in Natalie’s voice overcame his selfish reluctance.

  “I’ll call right away.”

  “I’ll stay on the line, okay? And, thank you, Rob.”

  Rob put Natalie on hold and speed-dialed Atlantic Aviation, his local contact when he’d flown by private jet to construction sites around the region or to real estate development conferences. Back in those days, money was rolling in on all fronts, and a private plane was easily justified on the basis of efficiency—luxury a pleasant side effect.

  “Rob Johnson, here,” he said to the familiar voice answering at the private jet offices. “No, I don’t need a plane. I’m checking on my brother-in-law, Dr. Ahmed Masud. By any chance, did he fly out this morning?”

  Rob was advised that this kind of information was confidential, but he’d been a loyal customer for a long time, trusted, he’d like to think. “I’m calling for my sister-in-law, his wife. She thinks he may have left behind some critical documents. If he’s already flown out, she’ll have to figure out some way to get them to him as soon as his plane lands …”

  “Could she call us directly? Overcome security issues?”

  “No,” Rob said, “she’s a doctor, too, and she’s in surgery.”

  When the receptionist came back on the line, he nearly dropped his cell phone. He repeated aloud what she’d said. Hoping to be corrected, that this was not what he’d heard. “So Dr. Masud left at nine a.m. on a Gulfstream heading to Cairo with his son?”